‘But if they go away feeling better, so what?’ Anna had demanded. ‘I bet you felt better when you stood up, and I know I did. So what's the difference?’
I'd opened my mouth to protest, looked to Ant for support, but he'd just shrugged noncommittally, and I wondered if he, like me, was wondering what our very blessed daughter had to feel better about. I'd shut my mouth, impotently. Mum had looked smug, glancing around the table for more support, which didn't do much for her cause, and which happily, my family hadn't given. Felicity had swiftly changed the subject, asking Ant how his new book was coming on, if he was having to do much research, how he was finding jiggling his timetable with his writing, and whilst they talked shop and Anna joined in, Mum looked triumphantly at me, so that it was as if she had won, because whilst the others talked academia, I was left with her, like her, the silly ones: the one who'd warmed her silly hand, and the one who'd made a silly fuss.
That night, in bed, after Anna had sloped off to her room – no evenings for Ant and me now, with a teenager who often went to bed after us – after we'd gratefully turned in, we'd held each other close.
‘We have to face this together, Evie,’ he whispered. ‘Otherwise it'll tear us apart.’
I'd nearly wept with relief. He was right. So right.
‘What shall we do?’ I whispered, hanging to that ‘we’ for dear life; knowing that whatever was threatening to rip us apart must surely bring us together.
‘I must write to her. But I'll show you the letter first. No secrets. And, Evie, if she wants to meet me, then I have to do that. You must see that.’
He drew back on the pillows to look at me, to gauge the impact of this: his face was racked with anguish, and I thought how dreadful this was for him, and I'd only thought it was dreadful for me. Nevertheless I trembled. I didn't show it, but this coward soul of mine quaked.
‘Yes,’ I whispered, knowing he was right.
‘She has to know who her father is. And that's all it'll be, I'm convinced. To know, after all these years. To set eyes on me. She'll have her own father, I'm sure.’
‘Yes,’ I said quickly. Because I'd thought of that too. Hoped that. Clung to that. But… maybe some drunken reprobate? Some unemployed wastrel who entrusted the family credit to William Hill? And maybe she'd set eyes on Ant and think – wow. Who wouldn't? Think – mm, yes please. But, then again, why shouldn't she? He was her father, after all. I dug deep for courage. Knew I was going to need it.
‘But if not…’ Ant was saying, picking his words with care, ‘if she doesn't have her own father and she does want to see something of me – of us—’
‘Us?’ I gasped sitting up, unable to stop myself. ‘Steady, Ant, I'm not sure I can—’
‘OK,’ he agreed hastily, knowing he was going too fast. Knowing it was softly-softly with me, one small fairy step at a time. That it would be a while before ‘Eh up, Stepmam’ was something I could hear without projectile vomiting. ‘No, OK then. Just me.’
We both lay down again, uncertainly, staring up at the ceiling. Instinctively and simultaneously we reached out for each other's hands; held on tight. Later that night, we made love, and then afterwards, Ant turned over and went to sleep. I could hear his rhythmic breathing beside me, see the hump of his shoulder as it rose and fell. I lay awake for an hour, and then another hour, and finally, when I heard the longcase clock in the hall strike three, I threw another sleeping pill down my throat, knowing my mother did the same, and waited for the cosh on the head to deliver me to oblivion.
10
Wednesday morning at nine o'clock sharp, Caro was on the phone.
‘What the hell d'you think you're playing at? I've got some strange horse in my field kicking seven bells out of the children's ponies and Phil says he saw a lad unload her from a trailer at practically dawn! Said she belonged to a Mrs Hamilton and he'd been told to deliver her!’
I shut my eyes. Shit. Hadn't I rung her? I thought I'd rung her. I'd certainly left a message on Tim's mobile and had totally meant to ring her too, but so much had been going on… Bugger.
‘Caro, I – I'm terribly sorry,’ I faltered. ‘I completely forgot. I did leave Tim a message, on his mobile—’
‘Which he never bloody uses!’
‘No, well, clearly. And the boy was supposed to put her in a stable, not in with the ponies, but perhaps he forgot or – or couldn't find them, or—’
‘So she is yours?’ Caro screeched incredulously.
‘Yes, Anna and I bought her the other day. I meant to—’
‘You bought her on her own? Without taking anyone? Without ringing me? Are you totally and utterly out of your mind?’
Yes, it felt like it, recently, most of the time. But I wasn't having that. I straightened up in my kitchen. ‘Anna knows her stuff, actually,’ I said stiffly. ‘She's been riding for nearly two years now.’
‘Two years? I've been at it fifteen and I'm still learning. Where did you get her from?’
‘A very reputable dealer, as a matter of fact. He's called Lenny Docherty, and he's got a yard just off the Woodstock—’
‘Lenny the Liar!’ she said with a spectacular hiss.
‘What?’
‘You bought a horse from Lenny the Liar? Oh God, Evie, he'd sell his own grandmother!’
‘Actually,’ I said testily, but trying to fend off a certain qualm, ‘she has a very fine pedigree. She's out of Mayflower something-or-other and, um, In Your, whatsit. Dreams.’
‘She's out of some gypsy encampment off the Highbury estate, you mean. I took one look and thought, where's the caravan!’
This was so like Caro, I thought, fury mounting, to take against her simply because she hadn't been consulted. That, essentially, was what was bugging her.
‘Right, well, I'll come and sort her out then, shall I? Come and move her, if she's annoying the ponies.’
‘If you can catch her,’ Caro scoffed. ‘Phil and I have been running round after her since seven o'clock this morning. We'll have to lasso her to bring her in. And then where am I supposed to put her?’
‘Well, I—’
‘Oh, for God's sake, I'll manage. Just bring Anna over here after school, OK? I want to see her on her. Make sure she can ride the wretched thing.’
‘Right,’ I said obediently.
I put the phone down and sank my head into my hands. Massaged my temples viciously. Oh Lord. Caro in a bate. Not ideal.
Later that day, I scooped up Anna from the school gates, having collapsed the back seats in the car so I could accommodate her bike.
‘She's arrived!’ Anna jumped about excitedly on the pavement as I wrestled with a recalcitrant wheel that refused to turn in on itself.
‘Yes, she has. Anna, can you just—’
‘Polly, my horse has arrived!’ she called to a friend, running to get her bus.
Polly stopped in awe. ‘Ohmygod, you're soo lucky?’ She ran on, as the lucky one jigged about beside me.
‘Did you bring my riding things?’
‘Damn, I forgot.’
‘Mum!’ she groaned. ‘Never mind I'll borrow Phoebe's. Does Caro like her? Molly? What does she think?’
‘Um, she hasn't really had a proper look. Darling, could you just push that pedal in so I can – bugger. The chain's come off. Now I've got oil all over me!’
‘But they put her in a stable, didn't they? Why hasn't she had a proper—’
‘Anna, just help me with this sodding bike!’ I screamed as my hand went painfully through the spokes. ‘Shit!’
‘So-rry.’ She rolled her eyes theatrically as though I only had to ask. Together we heaved it on board. ‘Mum, d'you think you could not swear so much?’ she whispered as we jammed it in tight. ‘It's like you've got Tourette's or something. None of my friends' mums do.’
‘Hi, Evie!’ one such saintly mother, a scrubbed, unhigh-lighted paragon with a Ph.D. in micro-bleeding-whatever, hailed us from across the road.
I lathered on a smile as I turned a
nd shut the boot. ‘Tabitha. Hi.’
‘Got the dog in there too?’ she called jovially.
I laughed, but it had a hollow ring to it. This was a reference to a recent occasion, when, feeling my life lacked substance, I'd joined a few mums for a morning dog walk, something they apparently squeezed in effortlessly between dropping their daughters off at school and rushing off to split the atom at the University. Knowing they took it quite seriously I'd carefully put in floral wellies, a dog rug, a towel for Brenda's muddy paws, and driven to their habitual meeting place at Christ Church meadows. Sadly, when I opened the boot, I'd forgotten the dog.
‘That's it!’ I chortled now. ‘Got everything in here – bike, dog, kitchen sink – busy busy busy! Must fly, Tabitha!’
Anna looked stricken as we got in the car. ‘Can you not say things like that either, Mum?’
‘Like what?’
‘“Busy busy busy.” And by the way, your jeans are way too low.’
There was no one about when we got to the farm. I opened the front door and hollered up the stairs, shouted my way around downstairs, then roamed around the garden yelling, ‘Caro!’
‘There!’
Anna spotted her, down by her marquee on the other side of the river. She was walking strangely, bent double like a gorilla, with a bucket in her hand. We hurried down the lawn and leaped across the stream via the stepping stones to join her.
‘I'm so sorry, Caro,’ I panted as we followed the grassy path through the cow parsley, carefully mown for her brides, ‘really sorry. I'll sort Molly out, you just tell me what to do.’ I'd already briefed Anna in the car that over-the-top contriteness was the order of the day here. ‘This is all you need with everything else going on. Oh Lord, what's happened to the marquee? Here, let me.’
Caro, still bent at the waist, was working her way along the pink and white canvas, wiping it down with great sweeping strokes. I picked up the bucket to move it closer to her.
‘Yuck.’ I dropped it abruptly. ‘Smells like—’
‘Puke, which is exactly what it is.’ She straightened up to look at me, hand in the small of her back. ‘We had a hooray wedding here yesterday, against my better judgement, and after they'd alfresco bonked their way round the bushes, they were sick in the herbaceous borders. Some hero helpfully sprayed the marquee with it too. We didn't have to feed the dog yesterday there was so much sick about, and I'm still finding condoms in the bushes.’
‘Oh!’
She picked up her bucket and marched off to attend to another hot spot.
‘And there was a punch-up on the dance floor,’ she said grimly. ‘And when poor Tim waded in to sort it out, he ended up with a split lip!’
Why did she do it, I wondered as I turned and followed her across the stream, Anna behind us. Why did they do it? For the money, of course, but – was it worth it? We set off back up the grassy slope of the garden at a brisk pace.
‘And now Marcia Wentworth-White at Harrington Hall has decided she's doing weddings too so no doubt all my lovely Asians will flock up there and no one will come here except the fucking gentiles!’ she hissed.
Ah. So that was it. Might explain her bad temper on the phone.
‘But surely Marcia will charge more?’ Anna and I jogged up the hill after her. ‘I mean, Harrington Hall and all that – you'd be much better value for money.’
‘That's what I'm hanging on to,’ she said grimly as we kept pace. ‘That's what's keeping me sane. That they'll price themselves out of the market. We'll see. Pigs.’ She stopped in her tracks
‘The Wentworth-Whites?’
‘No, I've got to feed them, but yes, the Wentworth-Whites are actually, especially him, no manners at all. Frightfully nouveau.’ She turned and headed off in the other direction, down towards the sties.
‘Anyway, I'm going for the gay market.’ She jutted her chin out determinedly as she hurried on. ‘Tim's a bit nervous, but I'm convinced it's the way forward. I had a lovely couple come to look the other day, Jason and Edward. They wanted to know if Edward could get married in a dress. I said he could get married in mine as long as they didn't puke and leave condoms everywhere. Here, Dolores! Here, Crackling!’ She rattled her bucket at the pig pen as we approached. ‘Oh, and naturists too. I found a couple on the Internet who were looking for a venue but wanted to be stark naked, and all the congregation as well. Kosher! Kosher – HERE! I said fine, as long as no one got excited during the ceremony. Imagine – with this ring, I thee – ooh, now where shall I put it?’ She cracked a rare smile. ‘DOLORES! COME! BOADICEA – HERE!’ she bellowed.
Five enormous ginger sows suddenly appeared from nowhere and charged at us, throwing themselves against the netting. Anna and I backed away nervously.
‘Actually, you can help,’ said Caro.
Help? In what way? Nothing practical, I hoped.
‘If you distract them,’ she went on, ‘I can get to their trough at the other end.’
Distract them? What – with a few songs? A dance?
She handed me the sick bucket. ‘Here jiggle this.’ I recoiled in disgust. ‘Oh, please.’
‘Don't be silly, they'll eat anything.’ She threw a handful of pig meal on top. ‘Just shake it, they're pretty desperate, they'll smell it.’
They surely could. The pigs were huge and threw themselves convulsively against the netting as I jiggled nervously, and as Caro ran away.
‘Where are you going?’ I bleated.
‘To pour feed into their trough down the other end,’ she shouted. ‘But they tip it over so I've got to right it first. Now jiggle the bucket – that's it!’
I jiggled furiously, nose wrinkled and averted, as down the other end of the pen, Caro, a sack of meal over her shoulder, stole over the fence like a burglar and quickly righted the trough, poured in the rations, just as the pigs, realizing they'd been had, turned and charged. Caro nipped back over the fence just in time.
‘What would they do if they caught you?’ asked Anna, watching, awestruck. The sows were demolishing their food with what can only be described as sensational dispatch.
‘Eat me, probably,’ panted Caro, brushing herself down.
‘No!’
‘Yes, quite possibly,’ replied her aunt calmly. ‘Hungarian peasants have been known to fall asleep in their pig fields, and all that's found in the morning is a pile of bones.’
Anna's round eyes went back to the grunting, ravenous beasts. ‘So… why d'you like them?’ she whispered.
‘Oh, it's all part of country life, isn't it?’ Caro beamed. ‘And anyway, they've always been here. Granny used to have them, you know. Your mum probably used to feed them!’
I think we all knew this wasn't true. Mum had kept pigs, but Maroulla and Mario, our farm workers, had pretty much looked after them, as farm workers did back in the good old days. And anyway, they'd been miles away, in the bottom meadow. I think I can safely say I'd barely set eyes on them.
‘Where's Harriet?’ I asked, peering into the pen. ‘The blind one?’
‘In a stable next to the house so I can keep an eye on her. The others don't let her get a look in on the food front. I'll see to her in a minute. Anyway, less of the pigs – we've got other fish to fry, haven't we?’ She beamed at Anna and put an arm round her shoulders. ‘Now, this horse!’
Anna smiled delightedly back, and Caro led her off. As I followed I heard Anna telling her how Mummy had forgotten her hat, and Caro saying never mind she could borrow Phoebe's, and I caught her eye briefly, thanking her. Caro might sound off on the phone to me, but she wouldn't rain on Anna's pony parade if she could help it: she was fond of her niece, and I blessed her for that. And wasn't I doing well too, I marvelled silently as we headed back towards the house. Carrying on with life. Going through the motions. Not howling.
‘Take this to Harriet, would you?’ Caro paused by the back door to pick up a bucketful of soggy bread and handed it to me. ‘She's in the end stable in the yard. I'll meet you at the stables when I've g
ot Anna kitted out.
‘Is she safe?’ I asked nervously.
‘Oh, absolutely. She's a bit listless but she still likes to potter about.’
Under the circumstances I could hardly refuse and I went off to the yard wondering if they'd say that about me when this was all over. She's a bit listless but she still likes to potter about. I duly found Harriet in a shed, curled up in a corner. She looked smaller and sweeter than the other honking great sows, but I wasn't convinced I wanted to feed her by hand so I opened the door a crack, popped in the bucket and, remembering the Hungarian pile of bones, bolted the door firmly and retreated.
Caro and Anna were already in the stables when I got there.
‘I caught her, finally, with Phil's help,’ Caro called to me from inside a loosebox; she was putting a bridle on Molly, ‘so I've popped her in here. Quite frisky, isn't she?’
‘Not when we saw her,’ I said. ‘Oh, look, Anna, isn't she sweet?’ Her nose was poking over the door and I went to stroke her. ‘Oh!’ Her ears went back and she bared her teeth. ‘Not very friendly!’
‘She didn't do that when you saw her?’ Caro opened the door and led her out.
‘No.’
She gave me an arch look as she put the saddle on. ‘Disgusting tack. Presumably he threw it in for free?’
‘Um. Yes.’ I flicked Anna a look.
‘Hm,’ said Caro, who'd seen it. ‘Paid through the nose. Thought so.’ She pulled the stirrup down with a snap. ‘Come on then, Anna, hop up.’
Anna took the reins and Caro gave her a leg up.
‘We'll take her in the sand school,’ Caro went on. ‘I'd have put Jack on her first, but they're not back from school yet, and – oh!’
Anything else she might have said was lost in the wind, as Molly, feeling Anna's weight on her back, stood on her hind legs in a heraldic pose, then charged out of the yard, snatching the reins from Caro's hand, heading for the wide open spaces.
‘SIT UP!’ roared Caro as Anna bounced around like a ball bearing in the saddle. ‘Don't lean forward!’
We raced after her, my heart in my throat, as Molly put her head down and rocketed full pelt across the buttercup field, ignoring the open gate to the sand school, galloping furiously into the distant blue yonder.
The Secret Life of Evie Hamilton Page 11